From A Life Of Only Red
by toasterrrstruck
Summary: There are more things than we know that make a cyclops tick. Sometimes, they need a little uncovering. A series of one-shots updated regularly revolving around a certain Summers. (Spoilers for Apocalypse, however minimal in amount)
1. Grey Summers

_I'm a very happy camper after seeing XMen Apocalypse. It, was, amazing! And I must say, I was rather please with Sheridan's preformance of my absolute most favourite mutant, Scott Summers. So, to spread that happiness and excitement, I have decided to create this. Please, enjoy!_

 _Snippets of the life Scott Summers could have had, currently has, and might have in the future. There will be spoilers for Apocalypse, no doubt, but I will attempt to keep them at a minimum_.

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 **Grey Summers**

Jean tugged at his hand. "Over this way," she corrected, a smile visible in her voice. Scott could just barely see through the tint of red, as it was dark and the night was dark as well. It frustrated him to no end, but what could he do? It was a condition beyond his control now; it was a miracle he could see at all!

"Where are we going?" he prompted for what seemed the umpteenth time.

"I'll tell you, soon enough," Jean returned evasively and continued to tug Scott onwards.

 _Soon_.

What seemed to be mere moments after she spoke, Scott felt her slow and could vaguely see her spin in the moonlight to face him. _Sit down with me_ , she spoke in his head. Softly. And he obeyed.

The grass with soft and it tickled the back of his neck as he leaned back. Movement beside him was a telltale sign sign that Jean had done the same. His gaze, however, was focused on the black sky above— on the red-tinged stars twinkling with their red-tinged light— and he almost forgot what they looked like normally. That was, until he realised it was all part of the lens, a ruby red lens that prevented him from seeing the ways others did.

Frustration rose inside him not for the first time, and not for the last either. He wanted to see! These glasses were what kept him apart, different… a freak. He may be among mutants, but he considered one of them. He was still considered... well, not _normal_. He could almost laugh at his luck.

There then came a hand, a soft breath, a smooth curtain of hair, and Scott's smile began to battle his hopelessness. It was slight in response, yes, but it earned another in reply as his head turned the telepath's direction. Jean's beam was as bright and warm and welcoming as a fire could be. And his mind wandered, not for the last time, what she saw when she looked him dead on: an unable mutant or helpless boy?

Jean faced the stars again.

And the question remained unanswered. ...at least for a silent moment or two.

 _You're wrong, Scott_.

The voice startled him to the extent which he jerked his head, bewildered for just a moment before the realisation hit him. His head turned to face Jean— or at least, the faint outline of her— with a brow just visibly arched as if to question over her use of telepathy.

 _You're wrong._

 _You aren't helpless, nor unable._ _You are an X-Men now, Scott!_ It was then that Scott answered his own question: Jean's smile was too bright to tarnish with spoken words. It glowed, radiated, through his lenses; like a lighthouse on the shore signalling to lost travellers. _You need to stop doubting yourself._ If others had said that, he would dismiss it as one of those lame statements said to boost one's confidence. But somehow, Jean had a way of making anything seem valid; something to listen to.

Scott found himself sinking into that glow and soon all the lights blurred into one. He was drifting a thousand miles away, to a place only he and Jean were, and nothing else mattered.

For once, the red didn't seem too bad.

And for the rest of the night their hands didn't become undone.


	2. Nilla Wafers

_Disclaimer: I wish I could just steal my lil' Cyclops and run away with him, but sadly I'd get in big trouble. So I'll only be burrowing Scott for a good long while._ _(In otherwords, I own nothing.)_

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 _Fun fact: this chapter was actually inspired by a quiz I saw online. Though the Wafer part..._

 **Nilla Wafers**

July 2nd, 1977  
1:43 am

Nights were always still in this suburban stretch of road. By eight, the shouting youngsters have fallen quiet as they tumbled into dreams. By nine, teens were attempting to evade their parents in their constant promptings to get ready for bed. By ten, sleep was starting to take hold on the entire household; the television programs were ending, the smells of chicken dinner were fading out the back door, parents were having the last swigs of beer before they retired to their beds, drowsiness sped along by the alcohol. And by eleven, things were silent. Muffled by a black velvet sky.

The only things that moved today were late-night hunters adowning their feathers and flexing their claws, patches of mist descending for their appearance early morning, and the Jedi in Alex's old television set.

Meanwhile, two brothers sat side-by-side on the old, cyan sheets of the elder's bed and their eyes were fixated in front of them, watching as blasters exchanged fire in the screen. Pillows were piled high behind them and a comforter spread across each of their laps.

"You know. I have t'say, this is the best idea you've had yet."

The younger of the pair turned his head a moment towards his now-adult brother, Alex. He had a faint smile playing at his lips, something that rarely showed in his expression, even as its slightest.

"Better then even the ice cream idea last week?" teased Alex, a wide smirk forming.

"That was a _disaster_."

"Nah, that was _hilarious_."

"You didn't get in trouble."

"Face it. It was worth it."

Scott only rolled his eyes and returned them to the screen. It was only followed by a playful bump of the shoulder by the older brother. By the stern stare and hard nudge he earned, Alex concluded his action was justified.

"We all know how this'll end," Alex warned, but in jest.

"Shh, I'm watching the movie."

They both knew that was a way to escape the proposed idea the elder gave.

"You've seen it before. Many times."

"And? It's just as good."

It was Alex's turn to roll his eyes, falling silent for only a moment or two. "Cookie?" he prompted and held out a familiar yellow-and-red box with one large hand. Scott said nothing for a while, stubbornly watching the film play out, but with the temptation remaining just beside him Scott succombed.

Foil rustled as he reached into the box and pulled out a single wafer. When he got a raised eyebrow his way at the amount, Scott only took a decent sized bite out of the disk if only to spite his brother.

But they both knew it was in jest.

Tease and joke in the best of times, that's what brother's did. After all, who knew when things would end?

* * *

Things did end.

It began when he destroyed a bathroom. When he burnt down a tree. And when he skipped out to town with irresponsibility on his shoulders. He knew he should have stayed. He and Alex would have been together, Alex would have been upstairs, the explosion wouldn't have occurred…

But it occurred. And things did end.

* * *

August 6th, 1983  
5:20 pm

Lightsabers were red now. All of them. And Nilla boxes were orange.

He watched absently as the indigo mutant across from him picked at the cookies. His nimble fingers turned one over and his large, inquisitive eyes studied it closely. A pointed tail swayed lazily beside him, moving just how Scott felt: slow. In his defense, though, it was a Saturday afternoon and the pressing humidity of the summer was getting to him.

There was one thing that kept him from dozing off completely. The Nilla Wafer box.

His gaze was trained on it—the vibrant yellow seeming orange, but the red remaining just that—and his mind jogged with memories it brought to surface. There was a running joke associated with it. Alex always had a box on him. When they were watching movies, playing on their downstairs foosball table, just teasing his little bro, a box would pop up sooner or later.

Thus, the treats inside evolved to be his favourite snack.

Scott grimaced as he returned to reality.

No more would there be a brother to hold out that familiar box, give a wink, and follow up with some teasing.

He turned his gaze away from Jean's apologetic look, glad she knew not to say anything aloud. But that was the thing about telepaths; you couldn't hide a thing from them.

"Are you going to eat that, or just stare at it?" Jubilee's voice cut through the awkward tension in the air. It brought the mutants out of their (and other's) thoughts and fixated the attention on Kurt. His tail wrapped around the box and his head snapped up.

"I vas just…observing them," he explained, a slight sheepish grin revealing a row of pointed teeth. "They'are strange."

Jubilee seated herself rather promptly on the back of Kurt's armchair. "Yeah, well, cookies are made for eating. Not observing," she corrected, leaning in slightly. Jean stifled a chuckle from the sidelines, saying nothing.

"We didn't poison them either," Scott put in, still reclining in his own chair, legs up on the coffee table before him. "You have to try one, they're good."

It seemed to be their ongoing, yet unspoken rule to get Kurt more situated in the American culture. And Scott wasn't going to be the one that forgot it. Meanwhile, Jubilee attempted to sneak one of those golden disks—her hand darting into the box—but Kurt's tail flicked it away reflexively. A look of joking disappointment crossed her face and Scott tried not to think of Alex's similar looks during the times they would tease each other. Nonetheless, he raised a brow Kurt's way, it just being visible over his glasses.

"Vhat?"

Three sets of eyes fixed silently on Kurt, all with a smirk hidden between the lines, and all with the same message: get him to try one.

Slowly, tentatively, he did.

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	3. Freak Among Freaks (During Apocalypse)

_Snippets of the life Scott Summers had, could have had, currently has, and might have in the future. There will be spoilers for Apocalypse, no doubt, but I will attempt to keep them at a minimum_.

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 _Side Note: I took some liberties with Scott's classmate's name, as it was never stated in the film. Takes place beginning of Apocalypse._

 **Freak Among Freaks**

" _He's one of them! I'm telling you; like the things in DC, he's a figgin' MUTANT_ _!_ "

A dull throbbing.

" _Please. Tell me what happened._ "

" _He shot these things— like lasers— he's a freak!_ "

A small groan escaped Scott as he knocked his head against the wall. That's what he was now, a freak? Sure, he was considered an outsider during school. Maybe he didn't have all too many friends, if at all. But those times he was just a _normal_ reject; a _human_ one. Those times, he'd gain a _bit_ of sympathy from the other rejects of the school.

Now though? He was the freak among freaks. An outcasts in the outcasts. He was feared and shunned by everyone.

There was a reason why mutants were always in the news. They would never be accepted, no matter what choices they made. They would always be feared. Humans picked on and fought those things that were different, no expection.

" _What're you groanin' at?_ " a boy's voice sounded: the same one from the bathroom. Dirk, was his name?

It was disconcerting hearing the words but unable to match it with any image. And the bandages firm on his face, it did little to help. Scratch that, it did nothing to help! It only pushed Scott deeper into hopelessness and discomfort. How long would he have to stay blind like this? It scared him. It honestly scared him out of his mind. He was lost. He was alone. More so than before, because he didn't have sight.

Scott said nothing, only throwing a scowl in what he hoped was Dirk's direction.

" _Now,_ " came the cool, collected tone of the Nurse. " _Did anything happen to you or him?_ "

" _He knocked me into a wall!_ " yelled Dirk. " _Someone, just do your JOB!_ "

A tense beat passed between the three in the room.

" _What it intentional? Scott?_ "

The direct confrontation startled to new mutant and his mouth stood agape for a moment before any response could follow. He set his jaw and stated firmly:

"No. I didn't."

" _Did you touch him or was it... your mutation?_ "

The words sounded sour.

"I didn't touch him," he answered, evading the word 'mutation'—or the hard truth that came with it.

Another pause.

" _Thank you_." A shift in conversation could be felt. " _And you too, Dirk. If you could return to your classroom._ "

" _What about him?_ "

" _He will remain here. Now, please, go._ "

After what felt like ages of silence—in which Scott could imagine the series of dirty looks Dirk would throw, only to be returned by the steely gaze of the Nurse—the receding footsteps met his ears, followed by the slamming of the door. The mutant let out a subtle sigh, leaning back against the wall, expression clearly in pain. A headache was already forming from the relentless slamming into the back of his eyelids.

"I will have to call your parents, Scott."

Scott could tell she was trying to be polite.

But he returned with: "No."

"I'm sorry. What?"

Scott swallowed. He didn't want his parents to know about this. They already had enough with Alex, they didn't need another complicated relationship with their sons.

"Alex. Call my brother."

"How come?"

Silence.

"Scott?"

"Just...please. Get my brother here instead."

"If you would prefer that, than, how would I reach him?"

Almost a challenge, it sounded.

Giving her the number of Alex's own place, Scott slumped over. His face was starting to itch thanks to the bandages and his fingers were increasing their speed on the bed, a drumming fueled by all this energy just trying to escape through his eyes. The question of length stirred in his mind, not for the last time. Ages were going by with each minute and silence was heavy on the poor Summers' shoulders. It felt like a whole day had gone by before the door opened again and Scott immediately sat forward on the bed, leaning away from the wall.

More footsteps crossed the room and two tones exchanged words at the other end. Scott knew it to be his brother and a sense of relief washed over him, extending into the tips of his fingers and the end of his toes.

 _Finally_.

"Hey, shortie," Alex teased, his voice sounding much closer than Scott imagined he'd be. "I heard what happened." Was that almost...a grimace audible? "I'm here to take you home, okay?"

Scott's teeth sank into his bottom lip.

"Can't we just go to your place?" complained Scott. His voice came out a little too whiney for his taste.

"Ma, Dad, they'll want to know."

"It'll just get between me and them." Scott was a lot of things, but he was no idiot. He knew how their parents saw Alex: while they still loved him there was always a barrier they never crossed, as if they had one foot dangling over the cliff's edge and pulling them into the trap of society's views. They wanted to be normal, they wanted to blend in. It was something that kept them distant. Scott couldn't blame them.

"We can't stay with our parents forever. Sooner or later, you'd have leave the nest."

"Not like this."

There was too much logic to that statement, Scott immediately wanted to take it back. Forget it.

So he stayed silent.

"Come on, kid," Alex coaxed with a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. Though it was clear he wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. "I gotta take you, alright? We'll decide what to do in the car."

w

It was only a way to appease Scott, Alex knew, but the measure had to be done. He steered the kid to the door, waved a quick 'thank you' to the Nurse, and left.

"Scott, don't worry."

They moved along the halls.

"We will get you someplace safe."

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	4. One by One (XMen)

_Snippets of the life Scott Summers had, could have had, currently has, and might have in the future. There will be spoilers for Apocalypse, no_ _doubt, but I will attempt to keep them at a minimum_.

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 **One By One** they each go down.

He was just trying to save what he had left.

He set out at a jog. Bewilderment coursed through him. What was she doing? She had said herself, she couldn't control cerebro, not yet, much less work it efficiently. So now she thought to give it a try? He knew it reached desperate measures by now—dammit, he knew—but, what if something went wrong, as was more than possible. What if he lost yet another telepath in his life and he was stuck with the newcomer, Logan? No matter what, he couldn't leave her there with so much at risk that moment; he had to cross through, had to get to her side.

 _Jean_

He increased to a run. Flat out and fast, bringing up the heavy breathing and panic. _What wa she doing?_ rang through his head. She didn't know what repercussions this may have, so: just— _please_ —stop. Think about it; Scott certainly was. More of the weighted steps, hurried steps, desperate steps. _Please, Jean_. He couldn't afford lose yet another.

 _Please_

The door shut.

Scott could have run right into it. He could have just not stopped, hoping in any way... But his powers did not lie in phasing, thus there was no way to reach her. Time dragged on—an eternity on his side, so long doing nothing—yet he waited still. If they _wouldn't_ open though— Don't think like that.

 _Come on, Jean, come on_

Then a crumpled figure was revealed on the floor. Scott took off running even before the doors were fully open. A mind on one thing. Feet pounded the steel walkway; running and running fast. A mind on one thing only. The rest of the feet he was on the ground, kneeling before her with a great amount of concern written across his features: visible in every part, every part but his red-masked eyes. That wasn't the case, however. The eyes—blue eyes, features no one knew the colour of—were the most expressive feature of his entire person. _Because_ they were covered.

She seemed to lift her head and there was still recognition, thank god. Scott wasn't sure what the use of the machine would do to an unready mind, but the immediate things seemed okay. Tired, winded, _pained_ , but alright. His breath of relief blew a strand away from her face and his hands held her head, bringing it to his, resting her forehead on his own.

 _Never do that again_ , he thought, knowing full-well she would pick up on that. _Please, don't ever try that again_

She heard it loud and clear. But sometimes, somehow, in some ways, leaving things unspoken was all that was needed. Scott and Jean knew each other enough that, between them, even a little would suffice.

"I know where she is."

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	5. Evening Star

_Snippets of the life Scott Summers could have had, currently has, and might have in the future. There will be spoilers for Apocalypse, no doubt, but I will attempt to keep them at a minimum_.

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 _Side Note: This takes place many years in the future (after Apocalypse) when both are the same age as the first movie of the original trilogy._

 **Evening Star**

"Do you ever think we can get humanity to accept us, for what we really are?"

"You mean 'who'?" Jean returned easily, leaning her weight against one arm as her gaze past over Scott's face. A lazy smile crossed her face and Scott couldn't help but match it with a grin of his own.

"'Who' we are?" he asked again. He propped himself up slightly as his elbow dug into the blanket-covered grass. White-and-red checked, he guessed.

"Honestly? We can try, but I know it will take a good while," Jean replied. She didn't need to say anything further, but Scott knew what she meant. A telepath knew best of all how a mind worked. And a telepath would then know best of all that a mind did not let go of ideas very quickly. All humans had a degree of stubbornness to them.

"I can wait," Scott put out simply. Pleasantly.

"You've always been patient."

Scott loved the way her hair lit up with light from the evening sun. And the way her eyes glowed with warmth. She wasn't a star, so far away and glowing with the cold light of a diamond. She was a supernova, bursting outwards, reaching all, connecting all. Destruction so beautiful that it was impossible to turn his head.

He loved her.

Jean rested a hand over Scott's. Scott turned his over to clasp hers. They shared a look—a signal that conveyed everything. He sat up a little more to be eye-level with her when a gleam caught his eye. A dot of glitter in the evening indigo sky.

As if his thoughts leapt into her mind ( an easy feat to accomplish ), Jean turned her head and red hair cascaded around her shoulders like sunset-burnt water.

"Make a wish," she whispered, leaning into the man on the blanket besides her. A cool wind picked up, cooled the pair's bright heat, and whisked away any negative thought: worries, anxieties, doubts. It was just the two of them now—pure forms, unaltered, perfect—and the whole wide world spread before them.

Scott may have closed his eyes, but no wishes swam to the surface of his thought. He didn't need anything more. And he never would have believed that he would ever come to such a mindset.

He thought nothing as he leaned in. A hand curled protectively around her side.

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 _Leave a review, possibly!_

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Next: a holiday themed little one-shot.


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